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Almost Cousins	By : RazielleNyx Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > HIM Views: 1148 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of HIM. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Two- Ville Gets The 411

“Damn, how long can she sleep?” Bam lounged on the couch, swigging a beer at eleven the next morning. Rave hadn’t gotten out of bed once in the time between when Bam had put her there and now, not even to pee. Curious, Ville asked casually from where he lounged in the doorway to the den, “Why don’t you wake her up?”

“Cause I can’t do it my way, so it’s not worth it.”

“Why can’t you do it your way?” Dico demanded. “She’s a fucking crybaby, who gives a shit if it upsets her?”

“Dico, last time, you dumped a bucket of ice water on her and scared the hell out of her. You almost gave her a fucking heart attack!” Bam snapped. “No one fucks with Ravyn, Dico, you know she can’t take it. She’ll cry, and then I’ll feel like total shit, even if it was you guys that fucking did it, so leave her alone.”

“Christ, Bam, you act like I’m going to rape her or something! Get a fucking life!” Dico snapped, jumping up, storming out. Bam huffed, then jerked and twisted around on the couch when a familiar voice screamed, and something thudded down the stairs. “Next time, move, bitch!”

“Dico!”

“Shove it up your ass, Bam!” Dico called from the hallway.

“DICO!”

“Never mind, Bam-Bam,” a tired voice mumbled from the behind Ville, and the Finnish singer felt his chest tighten. Turning around, he felt a jolt at the sight of the swiftly darkening bruise on the side of Rave’s face. “I’m sorry this always seems to happen when I show up. Where’s Novak?”

“He’s around. Probably still sleeping. You could always go crawl under the covers with him-”

“Shut up, Bam-Bam. Are there any blueberry waffles in the freezer?”

“Waffles in the freezer, strawberry preserves on the door of the fridge, orange juice on the top shelf,” Ville rattled off, and almost choked when Rave smiled at him, bright as a six-year-old and rushed off to make blueberry waffle sandwiches. Bam just shook his head at his best friend, ignoring a weird twisting in his chest, and muttered, “That’s just sad. You actually remembered that?”

“I fucking well did remember it, Bam-Bam, you said I couldn’t have any of the aforementioned foodstuffs because your cousin would want them.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” but there was a lightening of the twisted tightness in his chest when Ville explained it that way.

“Dico, gimme back my waffles!” Rave cried from the kitchen, and Bam snarled and leapt to his feet, stalking into the kitchen yelling, “DICO!”

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking cry baby!!”

“Bam, stay out of it! Dico, gimme my waffles, you butthead!”

“Oh, grow up, Cathryn! I haven’t heard “butthead” since the fourth grade, you fucking cunt!”

“DICO!!” Bam roared.

The sound of breaking glass and a soft cry of pain brought Ville away from the doorway, where he’d been studiously ignoring the fight between the three, but when that cry came, he had to see what was going on. And he found Bam standing between Dico, who looked positively, absurdly livid, and Rave, who looked as if she’d been in the process of picking up a shattered plate when she’d sliced open her palm on a large shard of porcelain. Scarlet dripped onto the tile floor.

“Dico, I am fucking tired of this-“

“No, Bam, stop,” Rave murmured, cradling her injured hand in her free one. “Leave Dico alone.”

“You standing up for me is not going to make me like you-“

“Dico, shut up and leave me alone! Just stop it, okay! I know you hate me for what happened to Novak, okay? I get it, now just let me eat my waffles and then I can go cuddle up with Nov-“

“No, you little cunting bitch. You’re not getting anywhere near Novak-“

“Dude, knock it off,” Novak mumbled from the doorway. Silence descended on the kitchen as Bam’s best friend of sixteen years stumbled into the kitchen, expertly skirting the glass, and knelt down beside Ravyn. “Rave, you okay?”

“I’ll be okay. I’m gonna go-“

“Ville,” Novak interrupted, one of his hands warm against her shoulder, “can you please take Rave to the bathroom and see to that cut? Dico, you and I need to talk. Now.”

Ville carefully took Rave by the elbow and escorted her out of the kitchen, though she pulled out of his grip as soon as she got through the doorway. A tear rolled down her cheek, but she quickly dashed it away, leaving a smear of blood on her skin from her cut hand.

“Do you want to explain to a poor Finnish boy why one of the most laid back men I know wants you burned at the stake?” Ville asked, following her into the bathroom. She sat on the tank of the toilet, and the rock star began rummaging through the medicine cabinet for gauze, antiseptic, and tape.

“He thinks Novak’s relapse is my fault,” she murmured, pulling a sliver of glass out of the gash in her palm and tossing it in the trash. “And it was. Which is why I don’t want Bam getting mad every time Dico lets me have it.”

“Because you feel you deserve it.”

“I do deserve it. I messed him up, it was my fault. If I’d have been here, Novak wouldn’t have… it’s my fault. I should have been here when he needed me, and I wasn’t. The only reason I’m here now is because Bam knows I can keep him out of trouble. So I’m moving in. To keep Novak safe from himself. He listens to me, because we love each other.”

Ville felt his heart sink. So he had thought. She was in love with Novak. And Novak was one of his best friends, and thus the woman he loved was unreachable, untouchable… unkissable, no matter that she had the sweetest looking lips he’d seen on a woman, glistening now as she ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip while picking another sliver of glass from the cut in her hand.

“If you love Novak, and Novak loves you, then Dico should leave you alone, my lady,” the singer mumbled, and sat beside her, taking her limp hand and cleaning away the blood so brilliantly scarlet against her white skin. She bit her lip, but didn’t cry out. A tear welled up and rolled down her cheek, but it wasn’t a tear of pain. Ville knew why she let the tear fall now. Because she could say it was in pain, and not a drop of grief for Novak and the liquid bliss he poisoned himself with, a drop of regret for Dico’s hate and Bam’s constant frustration.
The antiseptic stung, he knew it did, but she didn’t so much as flinch. The tear that had lazed its way down her cheek fell onto the velvet of his 18th Century French coat, putting a dime-sized splash the color of dark wine in the fabric. He glanced up at her, saw she was staring at something off over his shoulder, eyes unseeing, but she spoke anyway.

“If I loved Novak the way he deserved, Dico wouldn’t be angry with me, because I would’ve been here, and there would have been no loneliness in him that needed to be killed… would there?”

“We were here with Novak, and yet he was lonely,” the singer replied bitterly, turning to press a piece of gauze to the cut. He taped it down, his movements jerky, his eyes smarting with tears. Because it was true. They’d been with Novak, all of them, Bam and Dico and Rake and him, and it hadn’t been enough. Bam had found him with the needle still in his arm, blood running down his skin and pooling in his limp, outstretched palm, eyelids fluttering as the heroin wracked his body with its euphoric agony. What made her think she would’ve seen what they had all failed to see?

Her undamaged hand, slim and cool, gently touched his cheek, and she lifted his head to look at her. She smiled at him, understanding in her eyes.

“No. You kept him anchored longer than anyone else could have… except me. If I had been here, when your strength gave out, when it wasn’t enough for him, mine would have been. But I wasn’t here. Do you see?” She slipped off the toilet tank and glided towards the door, but Ville caught her hand.

“Rave….”

She pressed her fingertips to his mouth, and shook her head. She glanced at her feet for a moment, before rising on tiptoe and pressing a quick kiss to his mouth. Then she scampered out of the room.
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Almost Cousins